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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308387">Marcus and Stefanos</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Dog_Tricks/pseuds/Bad_Dog_Tricks'>Bad_Dog_Tricks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ABDL, Band Fic, Bathroom Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Daddy Kink, Desperation, Desperation Play, Diapers, Enemas, Gay Male Character, Hand Jobs, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Scat, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:06:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Dog_Tricks/pseuds/Bad_Dog_Tricks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brooding emo Stefanos is the frontman for Dog Vomit, a punk/industrial band in Texas. When his bad meal choices before a road trip lead to frequent stops, bassist Marcus offers a couple suggestions - and a gentle ultimatum. </p><p>Eventual Daddy/boy relationship, soft Daddy kink, and age play in later chapters as they slowly progress from platonic bandmates and old friends to a romantic and sexual power exchange relationship. Non-con tag due to kink play under somewhat dubious consent, which will eventually morph into full informed consent later in the fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ultimatum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is another shot at writing my own characters. They are created entirely as cute props for me to project my crazy fetishes on, so they're intentionally not too detailed. However, I hope they're human enough to be interesting to read about.</p><p>This is another story which I am perfectly willing to re-publish with the pronouns changed. If you'd like to read this same story with a different combination of genders, drop me a line! When I have time, I'll re-work this same story with the pronouns and appropriate descriptors switched around for your reading enjoyment.</p><p>(Please note I absolutely mean it about the crazy fetishes. Mind the tags.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Stefanos gazed out the window of the van, trying to distract himself from the gurgling of his guts. Five-foot-seven with a slim-hipped, wide-shouldered frame, he had developed the short man’s chip on his shoulder early in life and honed it into an attitude that was a permanent challenge to the world at large. Although he had no problem attracting girls with his long, curly mane of dark hair, razor-cropped goatee and sideburns, and smoldering lead-singer’s stage presence, he rarely kept them around for long once they realized the attitude wasn’t a façade hiding a sweeter man underneath. Stefanos kept the world at bay by growling at it constantly, and was vastly more comfortable slinging “friendly” insults than accepting compliments.</p><p>            His bandmate Travis drummed absently on his knees in the back seat. Five-ten and skinny as a whip, he burned with the intensity of someone twice his size and lived on energy drinks and fast food. He dyed his blonde mohawk different colors every week, shaved patterns into the sides, and sported an ever-changing array of facial piercings. He insisted that everyone but his bandmates refer to him as “Travesty,” but it was hard to take him seriously when he was constantly tapping out drum rhythms on every available surface and could never sit still. Stefanos had long since gotten used to tuning out Travis’ tapping, but it still annoyed him when he was stressing. Like now.</p><p>            Marcus drove with the seat all the way back to accommodate the legroom needed for a six-foot-four, three-hundred-ten pound man. He was utterly massive, a brick wall of human flesh topped with a thick black mane who proudly sported the nickname “Marcus the Carcass.” He'd had to try several bass guitars before he found a rig with a wide enough neck to accommodate his huge hands and thick fingers. Although he lifted weights regularly and his shoulders and arms showed it, he had never wanted to achieve washboard abs, and his thick midsection simply made him seem all the more gigantic. He could lift most people with one hand – and had, with a few aggressive stage-jumping fans. He joked that he was “half n’ half” – half First Nations, half Hispanic – but Stefanos often joked that his enormous stature and proportions were “Because your mom fucked an Orc, dude!” Marcus took the ribbing in stride. He was a quiet guy; in fact, he was nearly silent except around his immediate family, bandmates, and his rare, thundering backup vocals onstage. His calm, controlled demeanor offset the moodiness of Stefanos and the manic energy of Travis.</p><p>            They had known each other since they were in middle school, and had been in some form of band together constantly since high school. Although they had changed names and genres many times, in recent years they had settled on a mix of punk/industrial and were currently going by Dog Vomit. They had gained enough of a reputation for putting on a decent show and staying clear of scene drama that they were often asked to open for larger local acts. In their case, “local” meant all over Texas, so they often drove 2-3 hours for gigs. But they got paid and they got to perform, and most days, that was enough.</p><p>“Hey, Marcus,” Stefanos said, shifting uncomfortably as he turned away from the window to face Marcus. “Gotta make a pit stop.” Marcus shot him a rare look of irritation, and Travis let out a gigantic, dramatic groan from the back seat.<br/>
“Dude, what the fuuuuuck. You got a serious case of mud butt today.”<br/>
Marcus sighed. “He’s right, man. This is the third stop in the last hour. What’d you eat?”<br/>
Stefanos paused. “Just some burritos, I guess?” he replied, unsure. Travis let out another groan and slapped the back of Stefanos’ seat in frustration, startling him.<br/>
“Why the fuck did you eat goddamn Mexican food before a road trip, you dick?” Stefanos’ stomach rumbled ominously as he twisted around to confront Travis.<br/>
“Fuck you, man! I’m hungry, I eat. What’s wrong with burritos?”<br/>
Travis gestured angrily at him with both hands. “Burritos always give you the Hershey squirts, genius,” he snapped back. “If you know we’re going to be on the road, eating burritos makes you a dick.”<br/>
Stefanos rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Fuck off, Travis. I don’t need your shit.”<br/>
Travis chuckled. “Yeah, but you need <em>to</em> shit. Again.”<br/>
“Y’all quit bickering,” Marcus interrupted. “Looks like there’s a rest stop coming up in a few miles. Can you be chill for a couple minutes, Stef?” Stefanos turned to look out the window again.<br/>
“Sure, no problem,” he replied.</p><p>            Marcus was the only one who could get away with calling him Stef. Even Travis got punched for that. But Marcus was different. Marcus was the guy you could always count on, the guy who’d pulled him out of so many sticky situations he had long since lost count. Hell, Marcus was the only guy who knew he was bi, which he had confessed after Marcus had kept tabs on him during an especially bad night; he’d gotten absolutely shitfaced after being turned down by a Grindr date for the third time in a row for being “too short.” Marcus had even shared with him that he was gay, which was surprising because Marcus never talked about his sex life. Anyway, Marcus would get him to a bathroom in time. Marcus never let him down.</p><p>            Ten minutes later, Stefanos was doing his best not to squirm as they pulled into the large rest area. He was so intent on getting to the men’s room that he didn’t notice the look Marcus and Travis exchanged, the bag Travis handed Marcus from the back seat, or the fact that both tailed him to the bathroom. He made a break for the handicap stall, an old habit from high school when he would sneak puffs of a joint between classes and cover it up with dollar-store air freshener. He ducked into the stall too quickly to see Marcus pull a neon yellow “Closed for Cleaning” sign out of the bag and hand it to Travis, or see Travis quietly open doors to ensure the other stalls were empty, or see Marcus set his bag down and lean against the sink while Travis set up the sign in the doorway and posted himself outside the men’s room door.</p><p>            After relieving himself of his latest bout of gastric distress, Stefanos flushed for the third time and wearily dragged himself to the counter to wash his hands. He hated when his guts did this, hated letting the guys down and making them late by needing to go so often. Travis was right, he often forgot not to eat the stuff that gave him the runs before their road trips. It really <em>was</em> his fault. He had decided to apologize to both of them when he finally looked down the long counter full of sinks and saw Marcus. “Oh, hey, man,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage. Had Marcus been in here the whole time, and heard all those embarrassing noises? Or heard him flush three times? Jesus, he hoped not.</p><p>“We gotta talk, Stef,” Marcus said, in the quiet voice that Stefanos immediately recognized as his serious tone.<br/>
“A-about what, man?”<br/>
“About <em>this</em>, dude. About you not thinking about what you eat before we go on a trip to a gig. About us having to stop every half hour so you can empty out. About the band.”<br/>
“What do you mean, about the band?”<br/>
“Stef…” Marcus took a deep breath, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose in clear frustration, as if explaining a very simple process to a child who wasn’t getting it. “If we keep having to stop, we’re gonna be late to the gig. And if we keep being late to gigs, no one’ll hire us. The band will fuck up, and we’ll have to start all over in a new scene with a new name. I like what we got going with Dog Vomit. I don’t want to change it up now.”<br/>
“Marcus, c’mon, it’s not that bad - ”<br/>
Marcus shook his head. “It is, man. We gotta solve this. I can’t be stopping for you to dump your guts every half hour anymore.”<br/>
Stefanos’ jaw dropped. “Are you – are you kicking me out of the band?”<br/>
“Fuck no,” Marcus replied immediately. “But we gotta get this under control. One way or another. Because if not, well…” he trailed off, shrugging.<br/>
“Nah, I get it. It really <em>is</em> my fault. I promise I won’t eat any more burritos before we go on gig trips.”<br/>
Marcus frowned slightly, as if considering. “Yeah, I hear that. Problem is, you’ve promised that before. I can’t trust you to remember, Stef.”<br/>
“Well, what else can I do?”<br/>
“I have some ideas, but you’re not gonna like ‘em.”<br/>
“I’ll like them better than getting kicked out of the band, man! I’ll do anything you want me to. I gotta win back your trust.”<br/>
Marcus chuckled. “We’ll see how long <em>that</em> promise lasts when you hear the options.”</p><p>Stefanos made a silent vow to himself that he would do whatever crazy or embarrassing thing Marcus and Travis had come up with. He had to make up for his stupidity. “So what weird shit have you and Travis cooked up for me to do? You know I’m good for it.”<br/>
“Mm-hmm,” Marcus nodded, opening the bag. “It’s not weird shit, Stef. It’s just the most practical two options to get us through tonight.” He pulled out a diaper and a bag with a hose attached, each dangling from a mammoth paw. “Pick your poison, but you’re not getting out of here without one or the other. Or both, if you insist on being a dick about it.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefanos makes his choice, but can't follow through on his own.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Dude..." Stefanos backed away from Marcus as if he held a live snake rather than an enema nozzle. "No, no way."<br/>"You gotta, man. Just for today, okay? We can figure everything else out later."<br/>"I can't, there's no way! I - I can hold it till we get there Marcus, really I can. No pulling over, no problem, right?" He managed a weak smile, unsure if he could actually keep this promise.<br/>"No, Stef," Marcus replied, firmly and almost sadly. "You got to pick one or the other. Or the three of us sit down right outside at those nasty rest-stop picnic tables and have a conversation about where the band is going."<br/>"I'll do anything, you know I will! I'll do anything - but do we <em>have</em> to...?"<br/>Yeah, man. One or the other."</p><p>Stefanos shifted from foot to foot and looked at the two options, thinking hard. If he wore the diaper and had to go again before they go there, and Marcus really didn't stop for him like he was threatening, he'd be utterly humiliated. But if he was able to clean himself out, maybe he could get it all over with and no one would have to know but Marcus. His mind protested, spinning at the fact that he was actually contemplating sticking a rubber hose up his ass - Stefanos took a shaky breath. He tried to be calm, rational, logical. If he got another attack of mud butt wearing the diaper on the way to the gig, not only would be be embarrassed beyond belief, he would be far too upset to play a decent show tonight. And if this was about making the best choice for the band...</p><p>"Stef," Marcus prompted him gently. "We got a countdown you know?"</p><p>Stefanos took another shallow breath. He couldn't believe he was saying this...but if it was the band at stake and only Marcus knew, he'd survive. He just couldn't imagine life without the band and without his two best friends.</p><p>"I - I can try the, uh, hose."<br/>Marcus gave him a long look. "Okay, man. Let me show you how it works." </p><p>Stefanos spaced out while Marcus showed him how to fill the bag, squirt water through the hose, and close the clamp, hearing the words as if from a long way away. But he snapped back to crystal clarity when Marcus started talking about "-just lube the last inch or so of the nozzle, try to relax, and stick it in. Once it's in a couple inches, pump this bulb here. It'll make the hose inflate-" here he demonstrated, the flat rubber bulb a couple inches up the thick hose inflating to about golf-ball size "-it doesn't hurt, it just helps you keep all the water inside you for as long as you need to."</p><p><em>As long as I need to?</em> Stefanos wondered, dazed. <em>How long is that? Can I even hold all that in the first place?</em> He barely heard Marcus explain that he needed to drain the whole bag "-not all in one go, I mean, but it all needs to get in you, so it can, uh, come back out. The more clean water in, the more clean water out, you get me?" Stef nodded, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He quickly found himself back in the handicapped stall, bag hanging from a hook slung over the side of the stall and a rubber enema nozzle weeping slowly in his hand.</p><p>He sighed deeply and slowly undid his belt, lowering his pants. He turned toward the toilet, holding the slippery hose of the nozzle Marcus had squirted thick lube on. He hooked one thumb in his boxers and pulled them down, dreading what this could feel like. He balanced with one hand on the safety rail as he bent at the waist and slowly reached behind himself with the lubed nozzle.</p><p>He jumped a little as the cold, rubbery tip made impact with the back of his taint. Dragging the chilly nozzle upwards, he aimed at his hyper-sensitive hole and pushed. Although he tried to increase the pressure, the tight ring of muscle would not give, even to the small, firm pencil-sized nozzle tip. It slipped and slid across his sore anus, but would not go in.</p><p>After three more tries, Stefanos was out of ideas. He looped the nozzle over the hook of the bag and let it dangle, still dripping a little. Robotically, he pulled his boxers and pants back up, and opened the stall door.</p><p>"I-I can't do it."</p><p>Marcus sighed, anger beginning to show behind his disappointment. "We fucking talked about this, dude. Don't be a jackass-"<br/>"No!" Stefanos blurted. "No, I mean - I couldn't - it wouldn't go in. I - I did everything you said, I just can't make it go in, Marcus, I tried, please don't kick me out of the band, I just -" He couldn't stop himself, and broke into tears.<br/>"Dude!" Marcus was across the bathroom like a shot, wrapping Stefanos up into a big hug. "No, Stef, no, it's fine, no one's kicking you out of anywhere." <br/>Stefanos let out a huge, hiccuping sigh of relief, slumping into Marcus' hug. It took a few more minutes of tearful breaths and slow breathing before Stefanos was able to step away on his own.<br/>"B-but how are we gonna do this tonight?" he stammered, trying to get a handle on himself.<br/>Marcus looked down at him. "Well, uh, if you let me, I can help you. I've done it before."</p><p>Stefanos took a ragged breath. "Yeah. Let's try that."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Side Effects</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marcus helps out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marcus snagged the lube from the counter and followed Stefanos into the stall.</p><p>Stef shifted on his feet, not sure what to do. "I can't believe I'm stupid enough that I can't even stick something up my own ass," he said, faking a smile.<br/>"You're not stupid, you just haven't done it before. Come on, come here." Marcus hugged Stefanos again, then gently pivoted him against his chest, so that they were both facing the back of the stall, Stefanos' back to Marcus' front. Marcus' big paw curled up and around Stefanos' chest, giving him a gentle, calming squeeze. "Just do what you were doing before and I'll take care of the rest." The hand dropped from his chest, releasing him.</p><p>Haltingly, Stefanos undid his belt and let his pants pool around his ankles, then yanked his boxers down. Gripping the safety rail, he bent over awkwardly in front of Marcus.<br/>"Yeah," Marcus said, his tone light, "I can see why that might not have worked. Stef, just relax. I got you." The big hands descended, gently repositioning him. "It's easier if you lean your weight against the tank, if you just bend like that you can't relax your core."<br/>Stefanos slowly did as he was told, finding a more relaxed, albeit more exposed, position stretched and bent far further than he had ever wanted to be in front of Marcus. But he was right, it was more comfortable.</p><p>The noise of a rubber glove being pulled on made Stefanos jerk. He heard the thick squirt of the lube container.<br/>"Instead of lubing the nozzle and then letting it lube you, I should have told you to lube yourself first. Just try to relax, okay? I'm not going to try to stick anything inside you, just some pressure on the outside."<br/>Stefanos found himself breathing shallowly in fear, and forced himself to relax as best he could. Marcus wouldn't hurt him.</p><p>He wasn't quite able to smother the small jump and gasp he let out when Marcus' thick, warm fingers skated gently over his hypersensitive anal ring. True to his word, Marcus spread the lube in tight circles, almost massaging the muscles there. Stefanos relaxed slowly into his position, tension leaving his back and shoulders without his even realizing it. <em>That almost feels good,</em> he found himself thinking. Even the guys he'd been able to meet up with on Grindr hadn't gone near his ass. He'd messed around with toys a couple times while drunk, and an ex-girlfriend of his had pressed a vibrator to his taint while going down on him one memorable evening, but he hadn't ever had someone else touch him like this. </p><p>"Okay, I'm gonna try the hose again. Should be way easier, no pain, okay?" Stefanos nodded to show he was ready, and the warm digits were quickly replaced by slippery, chilly rubber. He barely had time to react to the sudden cold as the tube slipped inside him. The fingers returned as Marcus fed more of the hose into him, bumping gently against his lubed hole. He could feel the hose, his confused sphincter muscles contracting around it as if he was trying to push out a particularly difficult turd. </p><p>"I'm going to inflate it now. It'll feel a little weird but it shouldn't hurt." Another nod, and he felt the bizarre sensation of something swelling in his rectum, almost like when he'd had bad gas. He fidgeted, less from the sensations in his anal canal than from his embarrassment. As he did so, the inflated bulb - which felt a lot bigger than a golf ball! - shifted inside him, sliding a bit further and beginning to press against...something. Stefanos jumped a bit, as if he'd gotten a small electric shock. One more pump, and the bulb lodged firmly against whatever-it-was inside of him that was so sensitive. <em>Goddammit, stop!</em> he shouted at himself inside his head. <em>What the fuck is wrong with you? This is not supposed to feel good! Your best friend is sticking a fucking hose up your ass because you're too stupid to do it yourself, all because you're just too goddamn dumb not to eat fucking mexican food before a road trip. This is the furthest situation from sexy in existence!</em></p><p>"Okay, Stef," Marcus warned. "I'm gonna release the clamp a little now." A loud click, and Stefanos felt the water - startlingly cool inside him - begin to slowly make its way into his guts. "Is that okay?" Marcus asked. Stefanos nodded. "Good, man, good. But if we don't let the water go faster, we'll be here all day. I'm going to open it more, okay?"<br/>Another nod, a click, and Stefanos felt the pressure ratchet up - but as it did so, he became hyper-aware of the slight vibration of the inflated bulb as the water rushed through it. He caught his breath. "Yeah, perfect, Stef," Marcus praised. "One more time, okay?" </p><p>The third click, and the increased pressure inside of him, wrung a moan out of Stefanos. Instantly, Marcus clicked the hose shut and his hands landed on Stefanos' back, gently rubbing in circles. "What's up? You cramping? Or is there pain?"</p><p>"N-no pain," Stefanos said quickly. "I'm fine, I'm fine."<br/>"No, dude. What is it? You gotta tell me." He could hear the concern in Marcus' tone.<br/>"I..." Stef took another breath. "Why does the inflatable part...kinda feel good?"</p><p>A short, stunned pause followed.</p><p>"I, uh - yeah, that's probably your prostate, man. You feel like you gotta piss and cum at the same time?"<br/>"Y-yeah, something like that."<br/>"It's okay, totally normal. You never had a prostate exam, huh?" Stefanos shook his head.<br/>"It's normal, nothing to worry about. Like, nice problem to have, right? Might as well enjoy it, your nerves don't know the difference."<br/>"Oh. Okay," Stefanos replied uneasily. Another long pause. "Uh...you can start again. With the hose, I mean."</p><p>"Shit, right, okay." He heard Marcus fumble for the hose, then a loud click - and the rushing, rolling, vibrating sensation was back, worse than ever. His sphincters tightened automatically around the strange sensation, squeezing the bulb firmly against that spot again. He felt a familiar heat pooling in his groin, and bit his lip as he realized he was getting an erection.<br/><br/><em>No, no, no!</em> he thought desperately.</p><p> </p>
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